Great Scott
by ridesandruns
Summary: Jean plus JellO shots equals TMI


Summary: Jean + Jell-O shots = TMI

Rating: R for language, sexual references

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, making no money from 'em, blah, blah, blah

Great Scott

Logan was seconds away from lining up his final shot to beat Warren and show BirdBrain once and for all who ruled the pool table when they heard the singing.

"I saw you standing there, I saw you standing there. You were just seventeen and way beyond compare . . ."

Bobby glanced up from his game of air hockey with Hank. "That sounds like . . . Jean?" he said. "And she sounds like she's . . . ."

"Inebriated," Hank offered.

"Plastered," Warren suggested.

"Drunk off her ass," the Wolverine said decisively.

Scott Summers entered the rec room, half-carrying his very happy, very drunk, fiancée. "Jean, hon, just calm down, and **quiet** down," he hissed. "You don't want the kids to see you like this, believe me." 

"Oh, baby, I love to sing to you, and I love this song. It reminds me of you. You were just seventeen when we met, remember? You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you until you were legal."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," muttered Cyclops, settling her in a chair.

"Got to get your girl drunk before she'll go to bed with you, huh, One-Eye?" Logan commented helpfully.

"Uh, Scott, exactly what got into Jean?" Warren asked, wings aflutter. "I've never seen her quite so . . . boisterous." Jean smiled happily, twined her arm around her lover's waist, and began nuzzling his hip.

Scott shot Logan a glare and sighed as he answered Warren's question and tried to evade Jean's caresses. "Jell-O shots got into her, that's what. A lot of them. I tried to tell her to slow down and she told me not to Cyclops her. You ever tried to drag a drunken telekinetic telepath out of a club without her levitating every bottle of booze to bring it with her?"

"Oh, my," murmured Hank.

"Oh, it gets better," Cyclops said bitterly, resisting Jean's attempts to pull him into the chair with her. "The Professor's paging me. Says it can't wait. I don't want to leave her alone and I don't want her wandering around where the halls where the kids can see her smashed. Think the three of you" – he looked at Bobby, Warren and Hank and pushed Jean's hands away from the buttons on his shirt – "can keep an eye on her? I won't be long. I just need you to keep her out of trouble." With difficulty he pulled away from Jean.

"Have no fear, oh Fearless Leader," Bobby chirped. "Drunken babes are our specialty."

"Just keep her out of trouble," Cyclops repeated. He cast a wary look at the smirking Wolverine and departed. Jean grinned and waved at his departing back. "Come back soon, sweetie," she trilled, blowing him a kiss.

Logan eyed her speculatively. "Had too much to drink, huh, Red? Can't say I blame you. If I were engaged to that tightassed twerp, I'd be drinking heavily too."

"You do drink heavily," Bobby pointed out.

"Shut up, Ice Pop," Logan said. "She knows what I mean."

"I do know what you mean," Jean replied with dignity. "And my husband-to-be is not a twerp, Logan."

"I notice you're not even going to argue the 'tightass' part," Logan said, grinning. "Finally wising up. Good girl."

Jean waved a hand vaguely. "Oh, please, Logan. Anyone who's seen Scott in his uniform knows he's a tightass. And why you think that's a bad thing is beyond me. I mean, you share a locker room with him. You've seen him naked. Admit it – when he takes off his clothes, he's **yummy**. And not just his tight ass, either. Every part of him. Take a good look at his mouth sometime. And his shoulders. And his . . ."

Warren cleared his throat. "Uh, Jean, we really don't want to hear this . . ."

"Oh, but Warren, Logan **needs** to hear it," Jean said, slurring her words only slightly. "You know, the other day, at breakfast, Scott's talking about how messy the kids are with their homework. How their math papers are so sloppy and they don't show their work well. He gets up to get to class – you know how my baby is about being on time – and **this guy**" – she gestured to Logan – "**this guy** says to me, 'Let me guess. Twice a week, max, and he's always on top and the lights are always out.'"

Bobby made a small strangled sound.

"My thoughts exactly, Bobbo!" Jean cried. "He doesn't know squat! He thinks that just because Scott's kind of anal – "

"**Kind of**?" Warren broke in incredulously.

"Shut up, Warren," Jean said cheerfully. "Where was I? Oh, yes. He's kind of anal and a neat freak, you think he's Mr. Boring. Well, let me tell you, if you think that, that's only because you haven't had sex with him. Believe you me, if you had, the expression 'Great Scott' would have a whole new meaning for you."

"Now, **this** is getting interesting," Logan muttered.

"You know, Jean," Hank said, fidgeting nervously. "We really don't need to hear about  . .  ."

"Oh, be quiet, Hank," Jean retorted. She turned to Logan. "You think my Scott is anal? Well, listen, he's a **detail man**. Yesiree, he's good at details. He'll do something over and over and **over** until he gets the effect he's looking for. He's 24 years old, and he's my own solar-charged sex maniac. Twice a week? Try twice a day, pal." 

"This isn't happening," Bobby thought, mute with horror. "I'm not standing here listening to details about Fearless Leader's sex life."

"Twice a night, too," Jean continued, oblivious to her audience's aghast expressions. "You all think he's such a Boy Scout. Let me tell you – he is. In wonderful ways. He's always prepared. Any time, any place." She spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. "Night. And. Day." 

"Oh, dear God," muttered Warren.

"And that bit about him being a neat freak," Jean went on. "That actually comes in handy. Who else but my Scott would know how to get chocolate syrup out of green felt?" She gestured to the pool table. "You look at that thing, you'd never guess we had mind-blowing sex on top of it just the other night."

Warren leaped back from the table as though it had bitten him.

Jean turned to Hank conversationally. "You know, I don't think there's a room in this mansion where we haven't done it."

"Jean, **please**," Hank moaned, covering his face with his hands. He was blushing through his fur.

"His office, my office, the lab, the kitchen, the music room," Jean recited happily. "The den, the classrooms, the stables, the hanger – now **that** was exceptional," she mused. "Scott really does love that jet."

"Do you think the Professor would wipe out my memory?" Bobby asked no one in particular. "I mean, if I asked him nicely? Or begged really, really hard?"

"Now, Cerebro – that was inspired," Jean continued. "Scott said I needed some good memories of that room to help me relax when I use the equipment. Boy, let me tell you, we made some good memories in there. Whoo!"

"Logan," said Bobby urgently. "I need you to cut off my ears. Right now. Name your price."

Logan didn't respond, only stared at Jean, stone-faced.

"Now, Charles' office, that was something," Jean said thoughtfully. "That was the only place we had a problem."

Logan found his voice. "Let me guess – the Boy Wonder had trouble doing his duty in Daddy's office?"

"Why are we listening to this?" Warren asked Hank. "Can't you drug her, or shut her up somehow? Put her somewhere?"

"Not while she's inebriated," Hank said mournfully. "It'll be worse if she's out wandering the halls. Think of the children. It would upset them dreadfully to hear this."

"This ain't doing much for my mental health, either, pal," snarled Warren. He motioned to Bobby, who was gaping, scarlet-faced, at Jean. "How much therapy do you think **he's** going to need to recover from this sexual travelogue?"

Logan's question had penetrated Jean's drunken brain, and she paused in her reverie to glare balefully at the Wolverine. "No, he did **not **fail to 'do his duty,' Logan! My Scott always rises to the occasion. The desk and the couch were just fine. But Charles has that Oriental rug in his office, and it's rougher than it looks. My baby has very sensitive skin, and he had the worst case of rug burn you've ever seen on his pretty little ass." Jean paused and stared into space, smiling lovingly. "His pretty, pretty little ass."

"I want to die," Bobby said loudly. "I just want to die. I will never look at Fearless the same way again."

"I'll never look at the **pool table** the same way again," said Warren. "Or any other piece of furniture in this house. Jesus Christ."

As Jean launched into further description of sexual escapades involving the roof, Ororo's gardens, the garage, the Danger Room and the gym, Logan began to smirk. Visions of Harleys danced in his head. After this enlightening conversation, he very much doubted he'd have any problems borrowing any vehicle of Cyclops' he desired. All he'd have to do would be to work the words "rug burn" into dinnertime conversation, preferably while Chuck was presiding over the meal. Or ask why the mansion went through so much chocolate syrup so quickly. "Who'd have figured the Boy Scout would be into condiments?" he thought wonderingly. "And the **Stairmaster**? Got to give the kid points for creativity. Not to mention balance."

" . . . and we keep saying we're going to get there again, as soon as Scott can do something about the splinters," Jean said happily. She  turned to the door with a smile as Cyclops re-entered the room. "And there you are! I was just talking about you!"

"About how you really ought to listen to me when I tell you to quit it with the Jell-O shots, I hope," Scott responded with a tired smile. "You ready to go to bed, hon?"

"Always, sweet," Jean purred, grabbing his hips to help hoist herself out of her chair.

"Thanks, guys," Scott told his teammates as he helped Jean up. Then he frowned as he realized Warren was rustling his wings nervously, Hank was examining his claws, Bobby was studying his shoes and all three of them were red-faced and looking anywhere but at him. And the Wolverine was looking directly at him and grinning broadly.

"Everything all right, gentlemen?" Scott asked. Jean wrapped her arms around him and buried his face in his shoulder with a giggle.

Bobby shuffled his feet. Warren cleared his throat. Hank rubbed his eyes. And Logan answered for all of them. "Oh, sure," he said, as his grin turned a shade evil. "Things are just **great, Scott**."

And Jean giggled.


End file.
